


The Devil's Tutor

by prumneos



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon Relationships, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Gideon tries, Light Angst, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Soos wishes he would try a little less
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prumneos/pseuds/prumneos
Summary: The residents of Gravity Falls underwent untold changes during Weirdmageddon and the months after. It follows, then, that the town's famous child psychic, Lil Gideon, would go through some, too.Chapter 1: Gideon asks Soos for some help.





	The Devil's Tutor

A devil dressed in velour waited on the porch, patient as can be. Under his arm was a gift basket. The gift basket was far from traditional, sporting a severed hand that leaked dark red fluid into the wicker, a pomegranate, several king-sized Snickers bars, and a video game with the plastic still snug and shining on the case. The devil was also far from traditional. He wore a periwinkle velour tracksuit, white tennis shoes that had been bedazzled, and a gold Rolex. His hair stood in a pompadour almost as tall as he was. 

The devil's name was Gideon Gleeful.

It was ten minutes to nine. His breath curled in the air. There'd been no sunrise, that day—fall clouds, instead, which hung in the air and made the resplendent fall foliage chill and dark. Only the pines remained unchanged, tall and proud and green as ever. It would rain by noon, most likely. 

At six minutes to nine, when Gideon had started to fidget impatiently and hum, the deadbolts began to unlock. This was a process that took a significant amount of time, and one that used to come with a significant amount of muffled cursing on the other side of the door. Gideon checked his Rolex. Four minutes to nine. 

There was a sign on the door that simply read,  _CLOSED._ At three to nine, the door swung open, and a man leaned out to flip the sign over. 

Gideon cleared his throat. "Well, good morning, stranger!"

Soos Ramirez jumped so violently that his carefully-mounted fez fell off. " _Take whatever you want, just don't take the sui—_ oh. 'Sup Gideon."

"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," Gideon said. He articulated Soos's name like he'd been practicing it all morning. "Just the man I was lookin' for. May I come in?"

"Sure, dude. But, uh, you know I like, live here, right? You don't have to look for me." 

"Of course, of course." Gideon patted Soos's stomach as he stepped over the threshold; whether it was because that was the highest part of Soos he could reach or because it was a power move was unclear. Soos scooped up his fez and rested it on his head like a crown. "I  _do_ hope I'm not intruding on your time, but I was just out for a morning jog—you know, as normal, good little boys do—and thought, well, why don't I pop in for a quick visit with my second-fav—I mean, with my  _favorite_ purveyor of mysterious knick-knacks and spooky tourist attractions!" 

Outside, just past the curve of the road, a car sat, letting out soft gray smoke from its exhaust pipe. Bud Gleeful drummed his hands on the steering wheel and sang along to the song on the radio.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone. I'm your  _favorite_ purveyor of mysterious knick-knacks and spooky tourist attractions?" 

"You are, indeed, my fine friend. And now that ol' Mr. Mystery is gone—bless his heart..."

"I'm, um, pretty sure he's not dead?"

"...and our lil ol' rivalry has been settled, I thought, well, golly, I oughta swing on by and pay this fresh, young, new Mr. Mystery a visit!" 

" _Is_ he dead? When'd I last talk to him? Oh, no, has Mr. Pines been letting Mr. Pines drive? He  _knows_ he can't legally drive at night or early in the morning! Oh, no, oh, no, I should call them, I should—"

Gideon delicately pinched Soos's sleeve to stop him from scurrying inside. "Now, now, hold your horses, Jesus. I'm sure old Mr. Stanford Pines is right as rain." He paused. "And Stanley Pines, too." 

"You know it's just Soos, right?"

Gideon nodded. "Oh, yes, silly me. So. Jesus. Do you have a minute?"

"I mean, the Shack just opened up, so..." Soos contemplated the empty parking lot and gray sky. "Haha, who am I kidding, dude, no one's gonna show up until noon. What's up?"

Soos led him into the Mystery Shack's gift shop. Although the Shack had changed hands, its shop hadn't changed much at all. The merchandise was the same, cheap knick-knacks and loving commercialist odes to Stan Pines and his business. The repairs it had undergone after Weirdmageddon gave several patches of wall a new shine; the smell of clean wood permeated the shop. The vending machine still stood against one wall, though the rug that had rested there for the past several decades was notably absent.

As Soos moved to the counter, Gideon's gaze roved over the merchandise like he was starved. Perhaps if he'd been under a less watchful eye, he would swipe a bobblehead from the shelf and take an experimental bite. When they came to a stop, GIdeon reluctantly turned back to Soos and smiled. "I come bearing gifts!"

"Whoa—for me? Aw, dude, that's so nice!" Soos bent and scooped up the gift basket. "Wait, is this a severed hand?"

"Made of candy. I would never give someone a real severed hand! Of—of course not, who would do such a thing?"

Soos brought it to his mouth and touched it with his tongue. " _Nice!_ "

"Yes, well, I heard from my sweet and love—um, I mean, from Mabel that you once saved her life by devouring a candy person, and I thought, well, by golly, whatever could a man so brave and thoughtful want but  _another_ quasi-human body part to eat? Why, nothing, that's what!"

"Is this Radical Robo Runner III? Dude! I thought this game wasn't coming out for another two weeks!"

"Oh, I have my ways. You'd be surprised the kind of connections a person can make in real adult prison!" Gideon cleared his throat and touched his fingertips together. When he noticed the shape they made, he quickly lowered them. "So. Jesus."

"Just Soos, dude."

"I have a...proposition for you. As you know, the Tent of Telepathy is a tragic relic of a bygone era, and as such, so is that silly ol' rivalry between the Mystery Shack and us Gleeful folk." He paused, waiting for Soos to laugh at his pun, but Soos was busy unwrapping a Snickers bar and hadn't noticed. 

"I'm pretty sure you can't work here, like, legally? I guess I can pay you under the table like Mr. Pines did me, though. Huh. Do you know what a socket wrench is? And do you think you're gonna, like, grow some facial hair soon? We can draw some on if..."

"Oh, no-no-no, heavens to Betsy, no, I don't want to  _work_  in this—um, fine establishment. A very fine establishment. No. You see, I've recently found myself in a...peculiar predicament. One that I think you, Mr. Ramirez, and  _only_ you, can help me with."

"Mr. Ramirez," Soos repeated, frowning. "Huh. That's a new one. I think I dig it."

"You see, I have need of a...specific type of tutor. A nontraditional one." 

Soos chewed around the mouthful of Snickers. "Cool," he said. A few flecks of chocolate landed on his shirt. "I'm listening."

-

Soos had his work cut out for him. 

For, you see, something had gone wrong with Gideon before he could make his own dark choices. Bud and Agatha struggled for years to have a child. It was something they had both wanted even before they met one another, and certainly before they had joined together in love and blessed tax deductions. When Agatha still hadn't missed her blood a year after their marriage, their desire for a child became fervent. Bud wanted an heir to the business. Agatha simply wanted a child. She ached with it in the way a freshly noticed wound aches, the pain growing every passing month.

They sank more money than they could count into fertility treatments. They tried everything, and then some.

And then, they found a way. 

Agatha's pregnancy was difficult. She was plagued with nightmares, from which she could never go back to sleep, no matter how Bud cajoled and soothed her. They were meticulous with her pre-natal care. Only the best for their growing child. Bud had been assured that their child would come to term, but they weren't going to take any chances. Despite their meticulousness, Agatha only seemed to wither; she struggled to keep food down. She was fatigued no matter how much she slept. When she began to vomit blood in her second trimester, they took her to the hospital. The doctors only shuddered and suggested they find a priest.

The vomiting stopped on its own, thank goodness. Thank goodness. The nightmares didn't. The slow and steady decay of his beautiful wife frightened Bud terribly, but what were they to do? They coasted on hope for months. Bud did what he could to keep his wife comfortable.

The labor, when it finally came, was quick. No hospitals would take them, so their baby was born at home, with the aide of a midwife and, of all people, Mrs. Northwest. She held Agatha's hand through it, and said nothing when blood splattered on her fur jacket. Gideon was born in just three hours, and came out screaming. He was a beautiful baby, fat and wrinkled and hearty, and the easy labor brought color and hope back to Agatha. 

The Northwests sent a care package a week later, with their condolences. Bud and Agatha laughed at the grim message. What was there to console? They were overflowing with joy at their hard-won success. The nightmares stopped. Agatha gained weight back, and pampered Gideon constantly, telling him what a beautiful boy he was and laughing giddily even when he cried in the early hours of the morning.

Then, one night, their perfect baby, with his pure white eyelashes, his ice-blue eyes, and his perfect pink cheeks, wailed, and wailed, and wouldn't stop. It was only when Bud remembered a peculiar golden necklace with a pyramid charm that had come in the Northwest's care package and tried to console Gideon with it that the child finally grew quiet, and slept.

It was the beginning of the end of Agatha.

And here, ten years later, this devil-child had come to Jesus Ramirez with a simple enough goal.

"What d'you say, Mr. Ramirez? D'you think you can teach me to be your average kid?"

Soos picked up the candy hand. "Yeah, okay," he said. "At least, as normal as you get around here. Pull up a seat, lil dude. Did you bring a notebook? You'll probably wanna take notes."


End file.
